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She Had A “P” On Her Titty: Part 2

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*names are still being changed, you know the drill*

So quick recap, in case you missed the last one: Boy meets girl, boy spills drink on girl, things get awkward, boy decides he wants to do butt stuff with girl. To all the ladies out there reading this, the above is more or less the thought process a man has when he meets you.

Moving on.

I hurried out of the office, with a smug smirk plastered across my face, when I bumped into the Greek Life Advisor, Tom. Ever the keen eye of university administration, he hinted towards my obvious drunkenness, “You do know it’s only Wednesday, right? We haven’t even made it to 5 o’clock.”

Like any good politician, I evaded the question with a shrug and carried on to the table where I could enlist the help of my brothers in my devious plan.

Mid-stride, I came to the haltingly distinct realization that I was drunk. Unfortunately, this meant that my plan, consisting of climbing into her bedroom window dressed as a skeleton and asking if she wanted to “bone,” was probably a bad idea. For the first time in a long time, I had no clue what I was doing. I put it out of my mind for a while, as I had more pressing matters to tend to.

Returning to class later that week, I had the pleasure of sitting through an hour-long lecture of male anatomy and endocrinology with a giggling Jess by my side. Needless to say it was intolerable. When the professor decided that splitting the class into groups was a good idea, I figured it was now or never.

“Hey, Jess, maybe this is a little ‘ballsy’ but, want to be my partner?”

Another giggle was the precursor to a diffident nod. Hey, at least she likes my puns. I got her number and we planned a meeting for that following Saturday. The good news: we were to meet at her place. The better news: she lives alone. The best news: my skeleton suit was ready and now I had a reason to wear it. If every lecture ended like this, I’d attend more often.

Saturday came around and I made my way to her apartment. I knocked and heard a quick shuffle on the other side. With an anxious look on her face, she opened the door. “Excuse the mess,” she said, referring to the empty wine bottles and tub of ice cream on the table. “My sister was over, she just had a rough breakup.” Wonderful, my evening would be precluded by typical “boys are the devil” misandry. My mind went to the condoms I brought with me — definitely won’t need those tonight. Maybe I’ll call Courtney when I get home; she was a total bimbo and would sleep with anyone with the right letters on their chest.

We were just starting our work when she flounced over to the kitchen and opened up another bottle of wine. I gave her a questioning glance, pretending to be at least mildly responsible for once. She shrugged and said it was necessary; her sister was always breaking up and getting back together with her boyfriend.

“She’s a total bitch,” Jess said. “How anyone could get back together with her, I don’t understand.”

Her words, not mine. She asked if I wanted a glass, and my liver leaped for joy. How could I refuse? Drinking alone makes you an alcoholic, after all; I couldn’t in good conscience let her venture down that path. She served up two glasses and we continued our work.

Just as the bottle was nearing emptiness she mumbled something under her breath. I asked if she could repeat that and she said, “I was singing, ‘El Sol De La Noche.’ It’s salsa, do you know anything about salsa?” Please, having lived too many months in Miami, breaking hearts the whole way through, I could salsa from here to Paraguay. But, of course, I denied any such knowledge. She enthusiastically leaped to her feet, dragging me to mine along with her, and, for the next 30 minutes, she was wiggling her hips while trying to show me how to move mine. All very exciting stuff, until she said the magic words, “Can I ask you a question?”

Now as a man, hearing that, or “can we talk?” or any variation thereof, is the equivalent of being handed a death sentence. I legitimately did not know what I did this time. Hell, I’d even left the skeleton suit in my car.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you a few questions, but I figured you wouldn’t answer them unless you had a reason for it. Truth or dare?”

Tipsy girl wants to play truth or dare? Hell yes. I almost ripped off my pants right on the spot.

It went the way you would expect for the first few questions, but after a bit the questions got a little… prying? I figured I could just dare my way through these parts so I wouldn’t have to answer the question, but she responded by making me drink more each time. Sneaky son of a bitch. Before long we were going back and forth with no regard for decency. Then she popped the question.

“Places you want to have sex.”

“Greek Life Office.”

Within 10 minutes we were on campus, my keys jingling in the lock.

I was pulling off her jeans as she fumbled with the clasp of her bra. Shaking hands and a flushed face — she must have been nervous. I guess it is a little intimidating, having sex in the office, but I like the rush. I silently wonder if she realizes that she isn’t the first girl I’ve brought here. I silently hope that she is not the last.

With a nervous chuckle, she slid the bra off her 36C’s. I noticed a cute cluster of freckles in the shape of a “P” just above her nipple, and that’s when things took a real turn. She grabbed me by the belt buckle and pulled me towards her the way I could only dream about. Earlier I used the word “diffident” meaning something to the effect of shy or timid, not really sure or confident in oneself. But holy mother of whatever you believe in, if this wasn’t Sex Panther incarnate I don’t know what is. This was the most furiously passionate love making I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing since that crazy divorcee in Miami, and then some.

After leaving a dent in the big blue couch that would challenge the Vredefort Crater, and acquiring some interesting rug burn patterns in equally interesting places, I took her back to her apartment. On my way out she called out at me, “Same time tomorrow?” and threw me a devilish wink. Now, how could I possibly refuse?

And Tom, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry about the couch. Also, you REALLY want to stop taking naps there in the middle of the day. Cheers.

Image via Shutterstock

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Harhko, Esq.

Son of The Most Interesting Man in the World. Has a weakness for single malt scotch and older women.

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